Eric Hoffman


A Translation of Sumitaku Kenshin's 試作帳その後 
[Shisaku-chō Sonoato][After That Draft Book] (Cont'd)

天井の音を失くした夜が深まる 
tenjō no oto o nakushita yoru ga fukamaru


The ceiling's silence
conveys the depth of night



待ちくたびれた傘が立っている 
machikutabireta kasa ga tatte iru


Tired of waiting,
the umbrella stands
upright



点滴重くたれさがっている今日の食事にする 
tenteki omoku taresagatte iru kyō no shokuji ni suru


The IV drip hangs heavy—
I place my order
for today's dinner



ポストが口あけている雨の往来 
posuto ga kuchi akete iru ame no ōrai


The postbox mouth is open—
streets are wet with rain



淋しさきしませて雨あがりのブランコ 
sabishisa kishimasete ame-agari no buranko


With loneliness
a swing creaks
after the rain 



氷枕に支えられている天井がある 
kōri-makura ni sasaerarete iru tenjō ga aru


Propped up on an ice pillow—
the ceiling is always there



胸からの血をすかしてみる曇り空続く 
mune kara no chi o sukashite miru kumori-zora tsuzuku


Blood from my lungs
held up to the light
of a cloudy sky



深夜の細い針が血管を探している 
shin’ya no hosoi hari ga kekkan o sagashite iru


Dead of night—
thin needle
searches for a vein



ひとりにひとつ窓をもち月のある淋しさ 
hitori ni hitotsu mado o mochi tsuki no aru sabishisa


For each person a window,
for each person a moon—
such loneliness



抱きあげてやれない子の高さに坐る 
dakiagete yarenai ko no takasa ni suwaru


Too weak to lift up my son,
I crouch down next to him



朝はブラインドの影にしばられていた 
asa wa buraindo no kage ni shibararete ita


This morning—
imprisoned in the shadows
of the blinds



窓へ逃げてゆく朝のシーツ交換 
mado e nigete yuku asa no shītsu kōkan


I run to the window—
morning bed sheets changed



風のような軽さで体重計にあがる 
kaze no yōna karusa de taijūkei ni agaru


Light as a breeze
I step upon the scale



いつとはなく暮れている背を見送る
itsu to wa naku kurete iru se o miokuru


It grows dark—
I see him off,
watch him walk away



秋風に頭あずけて剃ってもらう 
aki-kaze ni atama azukete sotte morau


Head entrusted
to the autumn wind,
I shave



花火開ききった道に我が影をみつける 
hanabi hiraki-kitta michi ni waga kage o mitsukeru


In firework light
I find my shadow
on the road



ひとかたまりの影をはなれる
hitokatamari no kage o hanareru


My shadow separate
from the mass of shadows



湯上がりの闘こえぬ耳からふいてやる 
yuagari no kikoenu mimi kara fuite yaru


After a bath
I wipe dry
my deaf ear



むし暑い部屋の殺しても蟻は出てくる
mushi-atsui heya no koroshite mo ari wa dete kuru


Humid room—
I kill an ant
and another appears



病人のいる暗さ降りはじめた 
byōnin no iru kurasa furi-hajimeta


Invalid gloom—
the rain begins to fall



顔さすっている淋しい手がある 
kao sasutte iru sabishii te ga aru


I massage my face
with a solitary hand



子につんほと言われていたのか
ko ni tsunbo to iwarete ita no ka


Even my son
calls me deaf



水溜りにうずくまり父と子の顔である
mizutamari ni uzukumari chichi to ko no kao de aru


Crouched beside a pool of water
we look like a father and son



道が少しある熱にかたむく 
michi ga sukoshi aru netsu ni katamuku


Temperature rises,
so too the road



何もないポケットに手がある 
nani mo nai poketto ni te ga aru


Nothing in my pockets
but my hands



淋しい指から爪がのびてきた 
sabishii yubi kara tsume ga nobite kita


My lonesome 
fingernails grow



陽に出て病院までの道がゆがむ 
hi ni dete byōin made no michi ga yugamu


The sun is out—
the hospital looks crooked



鏡にマヒした顔笑わせている 
kagami ni mahi shita kao warawasete iru


In the mirror
I force my palsied face
to smile



どうしようもない薬とのみこむ
dōshiyō mo nai kusuri to nomikomu


It cannot be helped—
the medicine swallowed deeply



一人の淋しい物音立てている
hitori no sabishii mono-oto tatete iru


Alone—
only the sounds of loneliness
surround me



煙草のさきで押しつぶした言葉のはしばし
tabako no saki de oshitsubushita kotoba no hashibashi


Cigarette crushed
along with every word



切り出された話の結論煙草が灰になる 
kiridasareta hanashi no ketsuron tabako ga hai ni naru


We begin to talk
then reach a conclusion—
cigarette reduced to ashes



風の道をまっすぐに月が登る
kaze no michi o massuguni tsuki ga noboru


The wind blows
down a straight road—
the moon ascends



とんぼ、薄い羽の夏を病んでいる 
tonbo, usui hane no natsu o yande iru


A dragonfly,
thin wings
sick in summer



無口な妻といて神経質な夏暑くなる 
mukuchina tsuma to ite shinkeishitsuna natsu atsuku naru


My silent wife
makes me nervous—
summer heat



重湯のさじ冷たい枕元に置かれる 
omoyu no saji tsumetai makuramoto ni okareru


A cold spoon
for thin rice gruel
placed beside my pillow



降れば冷たい電話機と話している
fureba tsumetai denwaki to hanashite iru


Freezing rain falls—
I speak on the telephone



重い雲しょって行く所がない
omoi kumo shotte iku tokoro ga nai


Heavy cloud on my back—
there is nowhere 
for me to go



補聴器をつけると朝の鳥なき出した 
hochōki o tsukeru to asa no tori naki-dashita


Hearing aid placed in my ear,
I hear the birds chirp



雨がきしませる戸もひとりだけの病室  
ame ga kishimaseru to mo hitori dake no byōshitsu


Rainy day—
the door creaks—
alone in this hospital room



深い夜の底に落とした蚊がなく 
fukai yoru no soko ni otoshita ka ga naku


In the depth of night
I hit the mosquito
then hear it buzz



ひとすじに流れた雨の心落ちつかせる 
hito-suji ni nagareta ame no kokoro ochitsukaseru


The rain falls
and calms my mind



補聴器にまつわる蚊の音を断つ
hochōki ni matsuwaru ka no oto o tatsu


Mosquitoes buzz
in my hearing aid—
I shut it off



手が汗ばんでいる夢をみていた
te ga asebande iru yume o mite ita


Bad dream—
I wake with sweaty palms



春へまっすぐ雪溶けてゆく道 
haru e massugu yuki tokete yuku michi


Springtime approaches—
the snow on the road
begins to melt



雨雲、やりきれない思いが雫しだした 
ama-gumo, yarikirenai omoi ga shizuku shi-dashita


Rainclouds—
sadness and bitterness
begins to fall



ふと父の真似を子が爪をかむ 
futo chichi no mane o ko ga tsume o kamu


Casually imitating his father,
my son bites his nails



窓ふく朝の冷たい街が見える 
mado fuku asa no tsumetai machi ga mieru


Window wiped,
I can see the city—
cold morning



石山切り取うれた秋がもうすぐ 
ishi-yama kiritorareta aki ga mō sugu


Stone mountain quarried—
autumn approaches



病室を出て秋の山呼吸している 
byōshitsu o dete aki no yama kokyū shite iru


Leaving the hospital room,
I breathe the autumn mountain air



青空に並んで冷たい墓となる石 
aozora ni narande tsumetai haka to naru ishi


Lined up against the blue sky,
cold graves made from stone
stand guard



窓の冷たい朝月にふれてみる 
mado no tsumetai asa-zuki ni furete miru


Morning moonlight 
on the cold windowsill—
I touch it



人ごみを抜けて来た手をあたためる 
hitogomi o nukete kita te o atatameru


I make my way through 
a crowd of people
then warm my hands



秋深い山からおりてきた 
aki fukai yama kara orite kita 


Autumn descends
from the deep mountains



月明り、青い咳する
tsuki-akari, aoi seki suru


In moonlight, 
my cough is blue



秋は淋しい蚊にくわれていた 
aki wa sabishii ka ni kuwarete ita


Lonely autumn, 
bit by a mosquito



月明り寒い影が唄っている
tsuki-akari samui kage ga utatte iru


In moonlight 
a cold shadow sings 



朝月残る昨日のこと考えている
asa-zuki nokoru kinō no koto kangaete iru


The moon lingers 
in the morning sky—
I ponder yesterday



どこまでも寒い青空が続く
doko made mo samui aozora ga tsuzuku


A cold blue sky 
as far as I can see



夕焼けに顔のないわが子をさがす 
yūyake ni kao no nai waga ko o sagasu


Evening glow—
I search for the face
of my child



机に月が落ちかけている長い夜だ
tsukue ni tsuki ga ochi-kakete iru nagai yoru da


The moon rests
behind my desk—
the night is long



りきれない気持ちのリンゴにナイフが置かれる 
yarikirenai kimochi no ringo ni naifu ga okareru


An unbearable sensation—
knife slices an apple



雨音、夜の池深く落ちる
ama-oto, yoru no ike fukaku ochiru


The sound of the rain
falls deeply
into the evening pond



障子の影が一人の咳する
shōji no kage ga hitori no seki suru


Shadow on shōji—
a lonely cough



人焼く煙突を見せて冬山 
hito yaku entotsu o misete fuyu-yama


Crematory smokestack
seen on a winter mountain



冷たい夜のべロリとうげた壁である
tsumetai yoru no perorito ugeta kabe de aru


Cold night—
already freezing,
the wallpaper peels off
 


柄杓の月冷たく口をゆすぐ
hishaku no tsuki tsumetaku kuchi o yusugu


Cold moon reflects
in the water of the dipper—
I rinse out my mouth



体重計冷たい朝を並んでいる
taijūkei tsumetai asa o narande iru


Chilly morning—
we wait in line
to be weighed 



許されて入浴のシャボンをはじく
yurusarete nyūyoku no shabon o hajiku

Allowed a bath,
I pop soap bubbles



風ひたひたと走り去る人の廊下
kaze hitahitato hashiri—saru hito no rōka


Swift as wind
he races down
the corridor



箸さき重く今にも降りそうな雨 
hashi-saki omoku ima ni mo furisō na ame


Rain at any minute,
even the chopsticks are heavy



月が冷たい音落とした 
tsuki ga tsumetai oto otoshita


The moon sheds 
a chilly sound



消灯の放送に追い立てられた幼い手をふる
shōtō no hōsō ni oitaterareta osanai te o furu


Hurried by the extinguishing of the lights,
my little son waves goodbye



幼く寄り添って肩が濡れている 
osanaku yorisotte kata ga nurete iru


His shoulders wet with rain,
my son nestles close to me



月をはりつけて閉ざされた窓がある 
tsuki o haritsukete tozasareta mado ga aru


The moon affixed
to a closed window




水音、冬が来ている 
mizu-oto, fuyu ga kite iru


The sound of water—
winter approaches



久しぶりの我が家の月を見て入る 
hisashiburino waga ya no tsuki o mite hairu


Been away from home
for a very long time—
look up at the moon



ずぶぬれて犬ころ 
zubunurete inu-koro　


A soaking wet puppy　


念仏の白い息している 
nenbutsu no shiroi iki shite iru


Nenbutsu—
my breath is cold white



かたくなに閉ざした冬をむかえる
katakunani tozashita fuyu o mukaeru


Winter arrives,
stubbornly wants 
to shut me in



ふりかえれば月のある我が影 
furikaereba tsuki no aru waga kage


Head turned,
I see my shadow
in the moonlight



いちょうの葉ベタベタと時をうずめてゆく雨 
ichō no ha betabetato toki o uzumete yuku ame


The rain buries the air
in ginkgo leaves,
sticky with water



夜が淋しくて誰かが笑いはじめた 
yoru ga sabishikute dareka ga warai-hajimeta


The night is sad—
someone begins to laugh

Eric Hoffman is the author of Circumference of the Sun (Dos Madres, 2021), and the editor of Conversations with John Berryman (University Press of Mississippi, 2021) and a new edition of Philip Pain's Daily Meditations (Spuyten Duyvil, 2021). He lives in Connecticut.

He writes: "Sumitaku Kenshin (住宅顕信, 1961—1987) was born Sumitaku Harumi (住宅春美) on March 21, 1961, in Okayama City, Okayama Prefecture. Initially intending to become a chef, April 1976, Harumi entered Shimoda Gakuen Culinary School, from which he graduated in 1978. Around this time he began to read poetry, religion, and philosophy, and in September 1982, initiated his studies in Buddhism via a correspondence course through the Central Buddhism Academy (中央仏教学院). One year later, in July 1983, he became a priest of the Pure Land sect of Jodo Shinshu Hongwanji at the Nishi-Honganji (西本願寺) temple in Kyoto, where he was given the Buddhist name Saku Kenshin (roughly translated: "blossoming devotion"). That October, Kenshin married. The following February, he was diagnosed with acute myeloid leukemia and hospitalized at the Okayama Municipal Hospital. Upon learning of their new son-in-law's poor health, his wife's parents demanded a divorce, which she was awarded, but not before she became pregnant with Kenshin's child; a boy, Haruki, born in June 1984. Kenshin's parents took custody of Haruki yet, as Kenshin's younger sister Keiko worked in the Okayama Municipal Hospital, Haruki mostly lived with him in his hospital room. It was during this hospitalization that Kenshin discovered the work of Ozaki Hōsai and other New Trend haiku poets, including Nomura Shurindō, Taneda Santōka, Kaidō Hōko, Nakatsuka Ippekirō, and Ogiwara Seisensui. Kenshin became a member of the haiku group Sōun, studying under the tutelage of Sanikichi Ikeda. In 1985, Kenshin's improved health allowed him to leave the hospital, yet he soon suffered a relapse and had to be readmitted. Perhaps aware that he did not have long to live, in December, Kenshin self-published in clothbound hardcover his first collection, 試作帳 Shisaku-chō, now translated as Experiment Book, though previously rendered as Prototype Book, Draft Book, Trial Pieces, and Experimental Notebook; shisaku means trial manufacture, experiment, test piece, or prototype, though it can also mean the composition of a poem, and chō is a book, notebook, or album. In 1986, two of his poems were published in the journal Sōun, and another ninety in the free rhythm haiku journal Kaishi. Still others were published in Umiichi, of which he became a contributing editor. On February 7, 1987, just before his 26th birthday, Kenshin died of leukemia. His entire body of work, 281 haiku, were composed in the last twenty months of his life. His complete haiku, Unfinished (未完成 Mikansei), was published on February 7, 1988, the one year anniversary of his death."

 
 

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